Waiting For Me
by empressdreamer
Summary: Susan is dying, and her son is trying to see beyond the woman he had known all his life. Perhaps there is more to the story she kept so secret, perhaps his mother was more than just a dutiful wife and a good mother.
1. Dying

"She's dying."

My blood froze the moment I heard the nurse saying this. For a while my head began to spin and my hands trembled. I could not believe this is happening. Next to me, my sister slumped on to the bench and began to sob.

I tried not to look at her, nor would I listen to the sobbing. I know she was as distressed as I am. But that's the difference between Aslynn and me. I don't want to fall to my knees and cry buckets, even though my legs felt like they have turned to jelly. I turned to my father, Jason. He had walked away from my side and was staring out of the window. There was no threat of any tears from him, nor was his body trembling with sorrow, but I know he is grieving for the woman lying on the other side of the wall. She was the love of his life, and the mother of his children.

I thanked the nurse in front of me, whose eyes were filled with pity at the upcoming loss of our family. After she walked away, I turned to my sister. I know that I need to be strong for us both. I placed a gentle hand on Aslynn's shoulder, feeling it going up and down beneath my palm. "Aslynn", I called softly.

Aslynn lifted her face from her palms to look at me. Her eyes were red and swollen. I don't know how much she had cried since our mother was admitted into the hospital for cancer. "We're losing her, aren't we Rhindon?" she asked amid her sobs. "We are losing Mother…" with that she began to cry again.

"Hush, Aslynn", I said to her. "We don't need to cry about it now. Father needs us to be strong." I nodded towards Father's direction. He had not moved from the window. "I don't know if we are losing her. Perhaps- just perhaps- she would make it. She's always been a strong woman", I continued, trying to inject some hope into my sister. "But the best thing we could do now is make the most of our time with Mother. Make her happy everyday. That's our job."

Aslynn rubbed her eyes. I watched her with pity. Aslynn had always been close to Mother. She practically followed her everywhere she went as a child, and even when she had grown up and left to further her studies, Aslynn remained close to home. Now, at 25, she lives at home, although I had left to get myself an apartment of my own. Giving her a pat on the shoulder, I left her and went through the door that belonged to Mother's ward.

Mother was sleeping when I walked into the room. There were tubes everywhere around her, and I could tell from a tiny crease near her eyes that she was in pain. It must be from the dozen of pills and liquid medicine she needed to take everyday. Countless times, Mother had asked me and Aslynn to take her home. But we won't let her. We wanted to cling to every shard of hope that our beloved Mother would survive this illness somehow.

I stared at Mother's face. She had been a beautiful woman once, when I was young enough to sit on her knees and fall asleep on her shoulder. But years and medication had taken away almost half of her beauty. Her once raven-coloured hair was now white as snow. Her face was wrinkled and creased, and even the smooth creamy colour of her skin was almost fading away. I bit back my tears, trying to be strong. But hell, this is my mother dying. How can a man be strong?

I sat next to Mother, my eyes never leaving her. I touched her wrinkled hand and held them in mine. Once upon a time those hands had held mine while I was on my way to school. Those were also the same hands that had stroked my hair when I was too afraid to go to sleep after a thunderstorm. Those hands had cooked for me and Aslynn, and had cared for us all our lives. I could not take it anymore. Holding back my sob, I lay my head on Mother's bed, as close as I could without waking her.

Wrong move. I felt the hand slipping away from my grasp to stroke my head. I looked up. Mother's blue eyes were looking at me. They were weak, it's true, but the tenderness were there. Her lips formed a wan smile. "Rhindon", she called my name.

I stroked her arm. "They-they said you're going to be- just fine", I said softly, trying to smile. I know she could tell that I'm lying, but I don't care. Apart from Aslynn and Mother, I need to assure myself.

"Rhindon, don't lie", said Mother. "It's my body you're talking about. I know how bad it is.

"Besides", she continued with a smile. "It's not really something bad, dying."

I stared at my mother. It's not the first time we have ever talked openly about death. Over the years it had been a topic frequently discussed by us, especially when she started getting old. Sometimes we discussed it to the point which it infuriates me. Mother never seemed to be afraid of dying. Whenever we started speaking of it, she would smile happily, as though dying is a fond memory she used to have. What's more, since she was diagnosed with cancer, it was almost like she _couldn't wait_ to die.

"Death is but another great adventure", she used to tell me.

I know where that line comes from. But that's beside the point. I'm always freaked out by the thought of my family dying. We don't have any other relative. My paternal grandparents died when I was a teenager and Father was their only child. Mother never spoke about what becomes of her family, although she did mention that they were dead a long time ago. Because of our lack of relation, our family was close-knit as anything. I don't know anyone else I could trust except Mother, Father and Aslynn. I wouldn't know what to do if I lost one of them.

And yet, here I am with Mother, and she speaks of death with almost joy in her voice. As though leaving her family is nothing to her. She would rather die than stay with us. It hurts sometimes, and it hurts now. Mother must have seen it in my face, because she reached to pat my face.

"Some day you will understand, child. You are young, you don't know. But trust me someday you will."

They were the words Mother would tell me over and over again throughout the years. I decided not to argue, given her condition. Instead I smiled at her, just as the door behind us opened and Father and Aslynn walked inside. Aslynn was still sniffling, but Father was more together than I had ever seen him in years. At that moment I felt a quiet pride for my father, who managed to keep a strong face while in the middle of such a trying time. Aslynn rushed towards Mother and hugged her tightly.

"Rhindon, take Aslynn home now", Father said to me. "It's late, and your mother needs rest."

I understand that Father wanted to be alone with Mother. And they should be. After nearly twenty-eight years of marriage, they need to speak to each other now. Mother nodded, and I patted Aslynn's back, signaling her to come along. Together we headed for the door.

"Rhindon."

I spun back to face Mother at the sound of my name. The look on her face told me he wanted me to do something.

"When you get home, go up to the attic. There's an iron box which I put in one of the trunks. Can you bring that to me?"

Both Aslynn and I felt like Mother was writing her will in front of us. Before either of us broke down, I choked out, "Yes", and pushed Aslynn out of the door.


	2. Hidden Memories

The rain fell heavily on the rooftop that night as I made my way up to the attic after dinner. Aslynn was in her room. She had shut herself up in there since we got home, only coming out when I called her for dinner. Her eyes were red and watery when I watched her from across the table, and the decision came quickly to me that it won't do her any good if I ask her to come to the attic with me. With so many of Mother's old things up there, she probably would start crying again.

Once upon a time the attic was my favourite place in the world. I recall many a Sunday afternoon when Mother, Aslynn and I would come up here after lunch to do a little exploring while Father took a nap downstairs. I always knew when Mother would bring us up here, because she would call us "explorers" throughout lunch. My sister and I would get so excited that we go through our dishwashing chores in a hurry, and run up to Mother as she waited for us in the living room or by the staircase. After that, we would climb up to the attic, sometimes pretending we were pirates or astronauts in search for hidden treasures.Here, she would unearth some secret treasures of the past, be it Father's, Aslynn's or mine. And then she would sit back and tell us all about it- Aslynn's first book, my first rocking horse, Father's first glasses. My sister and I would lean against her lap, and drank in her every word. That scenario fairly meets its end when we entered puberty and Mother was no longer our only friend. But for me, as I gently pushed the attic door open, the memories rushed through my brain as though the drawers in which I kept them had exploded.

The attic, however, had changed with time. Once it had been a comfortable place. The sun shone through the window behind crisp linen curtains, and if you open the window you can feel the cool breeze sweeping into the room. The floor was clean enough to sit on, because Mother never allowed anything in her house to be dirty. During the afternoons the three of us would just plonk ourselves onto the floor and pull out anything interesting from the many baskets, trunks, boxes and chests. And then we would share our findings, and Mother, always the Hall of Knowledge, would tell me and my sister about the origins of the things we found. Once Aslynn had found Mother's wedding dress, neatly folded in one of the trunks and complete with the veil and shoes, and Mother started telling us about the day she met Father until they were married. I remember myself hanging onto Mother's every word. Not so much for the story, but because I feel like I was making a connection with her by learning about our family's past.

But the attic that I went to that night was a different one than I had remembered. Perhaps it was because of the night time and the rain, but the attic looked dim and subdued even after I had switched on the lights. The clear inch of dust on the floor told me just how long this part of the house received no visitor, and the dust scattered all the way across the room, even up to the curtains. Outside I occasionally saw flashes of lightning, which light the room in an eerie way for a second or so. Only the trunks and baskets seem the same, only covered with dust.

For a while I merely stared around the eyes, my eyes trailing boxes and trunks filled with hidden past. Mother's wedding gown -hanging on the wall by a nail- is a fading cream now, but I could feel that once it could have fitted a princess. Father's tuxedo was dusty and yellowing at the cuffs and collars, but I can just picture him wearing it and standing at the aisle while looking adoringly at his approaching bride.. There was a box filled with Father's old books from college, the ones he no longer used. Old vases and pictures crowded one side of the attic. There was a very old mahogany desk at one corner of the attic, which Mother said had been given to her by an old aunt. Beside the window was trunks filled with old clothes from Mother's and Father's childhood respectively. The boxes piled nearest to the staircase were filled with books and files from Mother's student days, when she was studying to become a secretary. There were some of the chests and trunks which belonged to me and Aslynn too. I caught side of a particular brown chest, which I knew held clothes from my schooldays. Mother never threw any old thing away, as long as it can be salvaged.

"Some of these things tell stories about you", Mother told me when I was younger. "When you grow up someday, you can come here and look through your things and remind yourself of how you used to be, and who you are now."

My hands longed to go through each and every box, just like old times. But the bad weather and the fact that my younger sister was moping downstairs made me decide to go for what I have to go for and be done with it. I knew of the iron box Mother had spoken about, even though Aslynn doesn't.

The memory of somewhat fifteen years ago flashed through my mind. I was only thirteen years old and that Sunday afternoon only saw me and Mother in the attic. Aslynn, then ten, went off with Father to buy some new school things. I had came across the weather-beaten chest at the far side of the attic by accident. Mother had opened the lid, and told me stories about its contents as she usually does. But when we found an iron casket buried deep at the bottom of the chest, she merely placed it aside. Being the inquisitive little boy that I was, I asked her what was in it. Mother merely smiled and told me this:-

"There's something very valuable in this casket. It means so much to me, but it's not the time yet for me to show you what it is, sweetheart. One day, when you're ready, I'll tell you. I promise."

I thought nothing of the box, and for some reason I never told Aslynn about it either. Now, as I stepped across my dusty attic towards the chest, Mother's words echoed in my mind. _One day, when you are ready…_

The chest looked the same as ever, and strangely enough it was not as dusty as the other chests were. It was as though someone had opened it on regular basis. Patting the lid a little, I undo it and stared inside. Many of the things remained the very same. I lifted a large framed photograph. The yellowing photo in it showed four children in a formal pose. There was a boy, perhaps fifteen years old of age, standing beside a large chair. Even in the black and white photograph I saw that this boy is blonde-haired and blue-eyed, and there was something about his face that looked more like a man than a boy. There was an air of protectiveness with the way he stood, and the way he placed one arm on the chair beside him. The boy standing on the other side of the chair was younger, twelve years old maybe, with short dark hair and dark eyes which seemed to pierce across the photo. He had a stern look in his eyes,even though he was smiling and there were freckles sprinkled on his nose.He looked as though he can see right through someone just by staring at him, and I felt like he might, from the wisdom that etched all over his fair face. There was a girl, which looked the youngest- only eleven I think- with long golden hair tied up into two ponytails. She has rosy cheeks and a warm pair of blue eyes, and an infectious smile that can make anyone looking at her smile as well.

The last child in the photograph was also a girl, and the only one I recognized among the four. Her raven-black hair was long and styled to be wavy, and the serene look in her eyes was only too familiar to me. She sat on the chair with a pose so prim and proper, with the air that she liked everything to be just so. She couldn't be any older than fourteen in the photograph, and yet this is the girl who would grow up to be my mother, Susan Pevensie Trenhall. The other three were her siblings.

I don't know much about my mother's family, certainly not as well as I knew about Father's. Mother had shown me this picture and others that afternoon when I stumbled across the chest, but she rarely ever spoke about them at all. I doubt Aslynn knew anything about Mother's family at all, and somehow I think I wouldn't have either if I hadn't found this chest. From what I had managed to gather, Mother was the second child out of four. Her brothers and sister were called Peter, Edmund and Lucy. Her father had once served in the army during the war, and her mother had been a housewife. When I asked her where they are now, a pained look sailed across her face.

"They are all dead."

Perhaps I knew that the subject was painful for her, so I never asked her any further than what she had told me. I looked for a while at the photograph- the serene face of my mother being surrounded by her siblings-before setting it aside and rummaging further. There were more photos, one which showed my late grandparents- my grandfather in his army uniform with my grandmother- and there was one which showed a different family- a plump lady with curly hair, her thin and balding husband and a boy younger even than my aunt Lucy, with brownish hair and round face. Mother had said it was her mother's sister's family, the Scrubbs, whom had died earlier as well.

Aside from photographs there were also little things. There was punctured cricket ball, and toy ship and a worn and patched toy dog, all which belonged to Mother's dead siblings respectively. Going through these things again, I realized that the chest was all about Mother's lost family, particularly her brothers and sister. There were things belonging to them, more photographs of them than others as well as Mother's birthday cards signed by them. I saw immediately what I hadn't seen when I was thirteen years old. Mother must have missed her siblings terribly.

When finally everything had been sat aside, I found the iron box Mother had wanted me to bring to her. It sat still at the bottom of the chest, unlocked save by a rusty clasp. Slowly, gently, I plucked it from the chest and placed it upon my lap. The box was small, perhaps only the size of a modern shoebox. I ran my fingers across the box, my thoughts wondering what could be in it that is so valuable to Mother.

_One day, when you are ready…._

Almost half-consciously, my hands reached to unclasp the box and push the lid open. Inside the box was lined with red velvet. And upon the velvet lay the most magnificent thing I have ever seen.

An ivory horn.


	3. Lost Queen

I was a little late to reach the hospital after work that afternoon. Aslynn, who took up the morning shift of sitting with Mother, had already left for work. Father was at home, resting. The nurse whom had just come out from Mother's room nodded at me, and told me briefly that Mother just had her lunch, and was asking about me.

I had trouble sleeping last night. The horn which I had found up in the attic occupied my thoughts for most of the night and then again for the rest of the morning. I was fascinated by it to the point which I don't really think was quite normal for a man. I lay on my bed for hours, thinking, opening and closing the casket over and over again just to have one more look at the horn. When I went to work this morning, I was thinking about the horn and coming up with a dozen speculations as to how such a thing could end up in Mother's possession. It went on until I was becoming agitated because the clock seemed so slow to tick itself towards noon.

The casket was covered by my coat as I carried it to Mother. For one thing I thought it would look rather odd if anyone saw me carrying a very old iron casket into the hospital. For another I wouldn't want anyone to slip it to my Father or Aslynn that I took something out of the ordinary to Mother- they would probably think Mother was starting to give away her will or something. I haven't told either of them about the horn, even though I had breakfast with Aslynn that morning. Perhaps she had forgotten about Mother's request, or else did not think it was any important. At any rate, she did not ask me whether I had fetched what Mother had wanted, and what was it anyway.

Mother smiled as I walked into her room. She's not any stronger than she was yesterday, but she was sitting up. I could feel my heart breaking again at just how fragile she seemed like. I went to her and kissed her cheek. "Hello Mother."

"Hello Rhindon", Mother greeted me. "Have you brought the thing that I asked?"

I could have been offended that Mother was asking for the horn the first thing when she saw me. But when I looked into her eyes I realized that her excitement mirrored my own. I was anxious to know about the horn myself, and Mother was seconds away from telling me about it. I removed my coat and placed the casket gently unto her lap.

The moment she had the casket upon her, I could almost felt like she had changed. Mother raised one pale, trembling hand and undid the clasp of the casket. I saw her eyes lit the moment they fell upon the ivory horn. It was beautifully, exquisitely carved, with one end shaped like a roaring lion. I watched as my mother ran a loving palm across the ivory, stared as she savoured the feeling beneath her fingertips. It was like watching the reunion of two very old, very dear friends.

All that time, I did not speak. I watched and waited for Mother to talk to me, although my insides were dying to know. I felt like to speak first would have been very rude. As she turned the horn here and there in her hand, I saw numerous expressions fleeting on her face. I saw happiness and affection, but there were also terrible pain and sorrow and longing. Thousands of stories seemed to appear on her wan, elderly face, stories I wished I could know at once, tales I wished I could understand.

Finally, finally, Mother turned to me. She was smiling, a mixture of joy and sadness carved upon the pale lips. Her hands were still gripping the horn. "This… had once belonged to a Queen", she said, her voice barely coming out as a whisper.

I blinked, my mind trying to digest this new information. Since when did Mother become acquainted with royalty?

"Queen?" I asked.

"They called her the Gentle Queen", Mother continued, smiling fondly as though remembering an old friend. "She was one of the four monarches that governed a very distant land, two boys and two girls. This horn had marked her arrival, one part of three sets of gifts- well, four, really- given to the monarches when they first came into the land. This horn had come with a bow and quiver of arrows.

"For years and years she becomes queen, along with the other three, until one day she was forced to go back from where she came from. When she was queen, she had been beautiful and elegant. She was loved, and treasured and cherished. When she had to go back, she was a child again. Eventually, she managed to return to her country. Only this time it was not her country anymore. It belongs to somebody else, and she was only there for a task. Once it was done, she was never coming back. It was time for her to make it for the other world, the one which she was a nobody."

"That was when the queen made her mistake. She thought she had lost her beloved country forever, so she chose to forget it. She chose to bury herself inside the other world. It was an error, and it was fatal. By forgetting her country, she forgot who she was. And she left the other Kings and Queen, she walked away from them. She laughed… laughed … and scoffed at them. She-she called them childish. She could not stand them anymore… and she just went. She didn't realized it… she never realized… until they left her, just as she had left them."

All the time Mother was telling me this story, I never interrupted her once, though I know I should really. None of what she was saying seemed to make sense. The sensible part of me told me to tell Mother she was tired, that she should lie down and not think about such dreams. Call the nurse and doctor, even, for fear she might be hallucinating. But the other part of me, the one closest to Mother, told me it was important for her to talk about this. And it was important for me to listen.

"It hurt her", Mother continued. "She was… hurt. She didn't realize it until then. She had been so caught up with herself. She thought she had found her direction. Nothing more can mislead her. But she had been wrong. She was really lost. By cutting herself away completely, she made herself become a lost little rowboat in an ocean. She became vain, she was wild, she was shameful and cold. She was nothing like the queen she was once before. She didn't see that. Until… until… until she lost her true friends, she lost the only anchor of sanity that she ever owned."

Mother's eyes were wet now, and soon enough she was it fell like two long lines down her crumpled face. There was so much pain there, so much terrible sorrow... so much… I held her hand comfortingly. I felt sorry for the woman, this lost queen whom had gone astray so far and forfeited so many before she knew what it cost her.

"Oh Mother", I said gently. "I'm so sorry. What happened to her?"

Mother looked at me. "Something happened then", she said, her voice low, as though she was telling me a secret I must not repeat. "One night she tried to kill herself. She did. She had lost everything she ever loved, why should she stay alive any longer? So that night she threw herself from the roof of her house. She wanted to end her life that never seemed to bring any meaning any longer. But they came to her. They told her she was not ready. She must do her duty to herself and to the world.

"She was to find happiness for herself, and bring happiness to the lives she can touch. She is to find her country here, in this world were magic is scarce and she is not royalty. She is to be the Gentle here, be the Gentlest she can ever be. And she tried. She went on and got married. And she gave birth to a boy she named Rhindon, and a girl called Aslynn."

I jerked with shock, my eyes found hers. For a while I thought she was joking. That she had made up the whole story and now she would be laughing and stroking my hair just like she did during those days when we spent hours in our attic. But although she smiled, I saw that there was no jest in them, nor were there any lies or jokes or anything like it. No, my Mother was not lying. The thought struck me like a weight on my head.

"Mother", I started "Mother, this- this- Queen…. She's not- not- _you_, is she?"

Mother smiled again, this time I thought I saw a flash of loveliness on her face. Not the kind I had remembered as a child when she was strong and beautiful, but true beauty, the beauty that can only be possessed by a true queen. "It was", she said quietly. "I was that queen. I was Queen Susan the Gentle, Queen of Narnia, consort of High King Peter the Magnificent, King Edmund the Just and Queen Lucy the Valiant."

When she spoke the last sentence there was a trace of pride in her voice, and I saw her shoulders squared and her chin rose but a fraction, as though she was announcing herself to some subjects or envoys from a foreign land. Upon her hospital bed, with her face wrinkled, her hair wispy and white and her body frail, I saw the shadow of a person I had never knew my mother to be before. She was always serene and kind and wise, it's true, but to be majestic and regal were something else. My mind boggled at this new revelation, but my heart was thirsty for more.

"I was Queen of Narnia", Mother repeated, and now she was not looking at me. She was gazing at the horn. I thought she must be in a trance. "The Queen of the Southern Sun, Queen of the Horn. I had abandoned my country and family when the Great Lion said I was not to return."

By this time any sensible child would have ran towards the door and shout for the doctor and nurses. Aslynn would have done that, I'm sure of it. So why on earth did I sit rooted to the chair and merely gazing at my mother as though she was talking about something completely rational? There was something in the way she spoke and looked- goodness knows whether it was true or whether I'm the one who was hallucinating- that told me this is true. If it was anybody else I would have said they were deluded. Indeed I think if Mother had confided to anybody else they would have thought she was lying or had gone senile. But I don't- no, I _couldn't_- think that she was. Mother had never lied in all the times I had known her, she might smile or remain silent if she wished to hide something, but she would never lie. And she was still far too sane to make up something like that. In fact, I felt like she was at her most sane and truthful during that particular afternoon.

Maybe I'm just an idiot, because she is my mother.

"The Queen Lucy", I muttered, recognizing the names. "Isn't that your sister? And Peter and Edmund were your brothers?"

Mother nodded.

"But they're dead", I blurted out bluntly, realizing only too late that I might have hurt my old mother's feelings.

But Mother merely smiled and shook her head.

We continued to talk about everything after the revelations, so much so that Mother ignored the nurse's words that she should be resting. I have never seen her so energetic since she got ill. But the horn and the confession about this secret world called Narnia seemed to have fuelled her. It was like she had repressed herself for so long and so much that it exploded from within her and fell upon me.

She talked fondly of everything that was Narnia. She told me stories about her older brother's chivalry and strength, she recollected tales about her younger brother's grave wisdom and cool charm, she recalled about her younger sister's passionate bravery and vibrant joy. She told me about the days when they splashed each other at the beach to the point of soaking wet, only to have a herald announcing the sudden arrival of the king of a rival country. She told me about the way her people, which were fauns and satyrs and centaurs and talking animals, danced under the moonlight in honour of her birthday. She recalled of a prince from a foreign country, who very nearly held her prisoner when she chose not to marry him, saved only by her friends' wise counsel and her younger brother's swift actions. When she spoke about the Great Lion, Aslan, from whom Aslynn had got her name, there was a terrible sadness on her face, and shame, but also awe and respect. He was the protector and guide for her and her siblings during their time in Narnia. He was not always around, save only when need be.

She recounted the true chronology of how she had found Narnia with her siblings. It began when her own mother had sent her and her siblings down to the countryside when the city became too dangerous for children. She told me of the fear each of them had felt, about how her younger sister had found a stranger new wardrobe which led her to a faun. She told of her younger brother's wayward choice which forced them to stay for the sake of their family and then the country. She told of her older brother's resilience to protect his siblings and at the same fulfill his duty as a prophesied High King.

She told me all these stories with light in her smile, and I saw as though the lines on her face seemed to lessen. Her eyes, all these while seemed to dull with medication and sadness, glowed with so much love and joy and longing. It was my mother at her happiest. I could never recall one moment when she was as happy as this.

All the while I let her talk, with a nagging question inside me. Finally when I could take it no more, I blurted out the question before my courage failed me.

"Why are you telling me all this Mother?" I asked her. "Why now? And why not Aslynn?"

Mother looked at me quietly, and placed one hand on my cheek. "Because you are not like me", she whispered. "You are strong, and you can understand. Not Aslynn", she shook her head like she was sorry for my little sister. "She is too much like me when I was her age. Thank goodness she did not inherit my vanity and foolishness, but she can be hard to let go, and she is far too frightened to handle the truth. Not you. You lived up to your name, Rhindon", Mother said, pronouncing my name with fond pride. "I named you after Peter's royal sword, which he wielded only for truth and protection. And you are all that. You can see everything in a bigger picture and yet not forget all the details."

"You still haven't answered my other question", I reminded her. "Why now?"

With that, my mother's face grew serious. "I'm telling you now, because I want you to be prepared. There will come a day when I will need your help, Rhindon", I fell silent, alarmed slightly by her change of tone. "You said that my brothers and sister are dead. Well, I thought so too, for a time. When I received the news I was devastated. I nearly killed myself. But then I realized that to this world, they are dead. They have no more use of this world, and so they left. They were killed in this world by a train accident, but in truth they are together in Narnia, our country. They are staying there forever and ever.

"They left me behind, because I was not ready. I was not like them. Aslan had placed us all a task here, and I was the only one who haven't completed it, and I spent all my life ever since trying to fulfill that task. It was the last duty for a King or Queen of Narnia, before we can truly be welcomed home."

There was something with the way Mother spoke of it, that made me realized something. It was the answer to a question I have been asking for years and years. "You wanted to die", I said, plain and simply. It was like a veil had been drawn away from my eyes. "That's why you're never afraid of dying, why you wanted to go so much. You wanted to go to where they are now."

Mother did not answer; she only looked at me slowly. But her eyes told me her answer. "Are you- are you going, Mother?" I choked, emotions filling my heart like lead. "Will you go soon?"

Mother placed a hand upon my head and stroked my hair. "I could feel them", Mother said, almost in a whisper. "I haven't heard from them for so long. They told me they will come for me when it's time. When they feel I am ready. And it feels like I _am_ ready, Rhindon. It will be time soon, and when it is, I need you to help me. Your father will not be able to do it for me, Aslynn would have refused. But you, my son, would understand, and you can help me."

I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. "But what about us?" I said, trying to grasp at the last attempt to change her mind. "What about Father and Aslynn and me? Will you leave us behind, Mother? Don't you love us?"

"Dearest", Mother said gently. "It is because of the love for you that I had stayed. I could have gone mad a thousand times over, it was never easy to search for Narnia in this world. Then your father came and you and Aslynn came, and I know from the moment you were born that you had been part of the reason why I had to stay. Rhindon, you and your sister are part of the Narnia that I am to find. I am to install faith in my children, and see that they maintain that cycle forever and ever, so that this world will not be without beauty and gentleness and compassion. And I did that. I have accomplished what I was set to do", she said. "But my place is no longer here, Rhindon. You and Aslynn are grown, and I am old. I have waited, I have been held back so long. Now I must go home. I want to come home."

My tears finally spilled, not for her words, which were dripping with longing, but for the desire that I could see on her face, and for the realization that home to her no longer meant the one she had shared with Father and Aslynn and me for twenty eight years. There is a new home waiting for her, one which she could not wait to go to.

Mother shut the casket with the horn and handed it at me. "Go home, child, and think this over. I realize that this must be hard for you to accept, and I cannot ask for you to do what I want without your consent. But I hope you would consider what I have said. Take this, it has given those who used it great help before. I hope help will come to you through this."

She placed a hand upon my cheek and looked at me directly in the eyes. "Rhindon, my son. I need to go to my family. They are waiting for me."

--

_Finally! I've added a new chapter! I apologize to those who waited for so long for an update. I've done my best to finish this chapter. I'm sorry too, to those who finds my grammar to be painful. I'm still working hard on my grammar. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome. Please let me know how I can improve myself. Thanks._


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